


Quentin's Journal

by creativityandcoffee



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Diary/Journal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Playlist, Poetry, Recovery, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-03-09 01:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18906358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativityandcoffee/pseuds/creativityandcoffee
Summary: ***PAUSED INDEFINITELY*** Quentin starts a new journal after the Monster has been defeated; his entries reveal his thoughts on Eliot, the nature of their relationship, and himself. He decides to write in the journal at least once a week.





	1. Entry 1

**Author's Note:**

> As seems to be the trend with me, this work is set in an AU where Quentin is still alive. 
> 
> Chapters in this work will range from ramblings and notes to short stories and poems, corresponding with the different kinds of entries that Q is writing. Stay tuned to see what he writes next! 
> 
> I'll be adding a new chapter/entry at least once a week; some weeks I may add more than one entry, depending on the ideas I have. This is an entirely new format for me, so you and I will be discovering what this work will be like together.
> 
> Thanks for stopping by! I hope you enjoy!

**May 21st, 2019**

We did it.

The Monster and his Sister are gone for good, the Universe is safe (for now)...

And we got Eliot back. 

He hasn't been conscious again since they finished healing his wounds at Brakebills. I wanted to stay and wait for him to wake up, but they wouldn't let me through to see him, no matter how much I pleaded. At least Margo's there, watching him like a hawk. She'll let us know if something happens. 

I should be happy, right?

Glad that we succeeded. Excited because we saved the day.

So why do I have these knots in my stomach? Why do I have this weight in my heart? 

I know that Eliot will be okay. I know he's going to wake up soon.

But then... what happens after that?

I've spent so long telling myself that the person in control of Eliot's body _isn't_ Eliot. I feel like it's been years since I taught myself how to look into his eyes and not think about how beautiful they are.

Now, he's back. His body is his own once again. And when those beautiful eyes shine, it will be because _his_ soul is burning bright, because _he_ is lighting up the world around him, in the way only he can.

This is all we've wanted—all _I've_ wanted—since the Monster first came into our lives.

Finally, **_finally_** , Eliot's **_back_**. Eliot's **_home_**.

I could cry from the joy of it, knowing he's safe.

But I'm still worried about what will happen now.

Eliot was trapped in there for so long, and I just can't help but wonder...

Will he remember everything correctly? Will he remember us?

Will he remember _me_?

And what if he's different? What if he's been changed, somehow, by all of the pain he's had to go through? What if he's...  _not_   _Eliot_?

I'm getting too far ahead of myself. There's no reason to think that anything's wrong.

But there's this voice in the back of my mind... and it just keeps whispering the same things, over and over and over again.

_"He won't know you anymore. He won't love you anymore."_

That's all I hear, now, day in and day out.

I really need Eliot to wake up... 


	2. Entry 2

**May 22nd, 2019**

I couldn't have predicted how this night would go.

Right now, I'm in Eliot's room in the infirmary. This probably isn't the best time to write, honestly, since Margo's fallen asleep on my shoulder and I'd hate to wake her up. But I feel like I have to get everything down, for my own sake. To quiet all of the thoughts that are mixed up in my head.

So. I guess I'm doing this.

Margo called me at 3AM (it's almost 6AM now) because that's when Eliot woke up and wanted to know where I was.

I was already out the door by the time she asked me when I could get to Brakebills.

I got here as fast as I could, but—it still took me almost two hours to make it to campus. I suspected he'd be asleep again by the time I arrived, and it turns out I was right.

His rest is more important than me getting to speak to him, of course. In fact, I'm almost happy he was asleep when I got here, and that he still hasn't woken up again.

Because I really don't know what I'm going to say to him first.

Margo and I are sharing the only couch in the room, and Eliot's sleeping on one of those white medical beds a couple feet away from us. If you ignore the monitors that are beeping and flashing around him, if you tune everything out and just focus on him, he looks so... _peaceful_.

He never looks peaceful when he's awake. He looks confident, or at ease, or sometimes—very rarely—he'll look utterly content. But never peaceful. Never like this.

Seeing him sleep this soundly is both comforting and disconcerting, all at the same time. 

I don't know if that makes any sense, but. It's the truth. And if there's one thing I want to do with this journal, it's be truthful. Even if it hurts, sometimes. Because if I can't be honest with myself, then how can I expect to be honest with anyone else? 

I guess I should try to rest, too. Even if I haven't really slept since... well, since I can't remember when. That's not a good sign, is it? Anyways...

Maybe it'll be easier to sleep when all that lies between me and Eliot is an upward glance. 

It's so quiet here. So calm. And yet there's a tension in the air, as well. Silent suffering, and silent pain. 

That's how you can tell it's a medical room.

Okay. Sleep. I should definitely sleep...


	3. Entry 3

**May 24th, 2019**

I meant to put something down yesterday, but I haven't been able to collect myself until now.

I guess I should start with what happened two days ago... 

I did eventually get to sleep on that first night/early morning in Eliot's room. When I woke up, the sun was already starting to set, and Margo wasn't in the room. It took me a moment to reorient myself, and at first, I had no idea where I was.

But then I saw Eliot, and it all came back to me.

I pushed myself off the couch and went to him as quickly as I could without actually running. I didn't want to alarm him, so I tried to seem calmer than I really was. From the smile he gave me, though, I think he could tell just how happy I really was to see him.

I smiled back at him, trying to think of what to say. It had been so long since I'd seen him...

"Welcome home," I eventually said. Eliot's eyes seemed to soften at that.

There was a long pause; I had expect him to maybe say something in return, but he just kept looking at me in anticipation. Suddenly, I saw his eyebrows shoot up, and an apologetic look crossed over his face. He put a hand on my arm and gestured towards a whiteboard and marker, which were lying on a table I hadn't noticed before.

As I retrieved the whiteboard and brought it back to him, I couldn't stop thinking about how warm his hand had been against my skin. His touch is so different than the Monster's; it's softer, kinder... comforting, rather than cruel. 

I hadn't truly realize how much I'd miss his touches until that moment.

When I handed Eliot the whiteboard, he grabbed it eagerly and started writing out a message in large, messy letters. 

_Can't speak since this morning. Doctors don't know why._

I tried to hide my disappointment. But I wasn't afraid to show my concern.

"But weren't you speaking just last night? Didn't you... speak when you asked for me?" 

Eliot nodded. He looked sympathetic, as if he knew how much I was longing to hear his voice just then.

He wrote on the whiteboard again.

_I didn't say much. Speaking was hard. But I had to ask for you._

He took my hand and squeezed it with what little energy he could muster. I could feel the weakness in his fingers. 

"I missed you," I told him, looking into his eyes. "I missed you so much." 

The way he looked at me said _I missed you, too_. 

* * *

Yesterday mainly consisted of Margo and me arguing to Eliot's doctors that he should get to come home with us. Why should he have to stay there, now that his (physical) wounds are healed and he's out of danger? The voice loss is a bit concerning, but the doctors said it was, to the best of their knowledge, a symptom that would disappear with time.

I like to think that I made some good points in that argument, but—if I'm being honest, Margo was the one that won the fight for us. Eventually, the doctors told us we were allowed to take care of him ourselves, but only if we sent in a report every night indicating any changes in his condition. After Margo assured them we'd send whatever reports were needed, that was that. Eliot was free to go.

Late last night we signed Eliot out, piled into the car, and drove out to the house I've been staying at these past few days. As far as I know, it's Margo's house; whether it's _legally_ hers is another matter, but I've decided it's better not to ask too many questions. She sent me the address for it when I was initially denied access to Eliot, before he woke up. I think she knew that I couldn't go back to the loft, couldn't deal with everyone milling about while I was waiting for news on Eliot. I'm very grateful that I was able to come here instead.

* * *

Today has been pretty uneventful. We're all still tired after the long drive we did to get here last night (the house is great, but the only downside is that it's a good few hours away from Brakebills). Honestly, I haven't done much today except write this entry, check in on Eliot, and help Margo send our update on Eliot, the summary of which was:  _No changes to report. Still unable to speak._

It's helpful, to write everything out. It forces me to process what's happened these past few days. I don't know if I'll keep writing this frequently in future, but... for now, putting the details down on paper is making my mind clear up a little bit.

The most important thing is that Eliot's here, with Margo and me, where we can make sure nothing happens to him. 

I find great comfort in that fact.


	4. Poem 1

**May 27th, 2019**

_Eliot got his voice back today. Margo and I were both woken up by the sound of him laughing, celebrating being able to speak again. He hasn’t said much yet, mostly because we encouraged (i.e. ordered) him not to overdo it. But hearing him laugh this morning reminded me of how much I love everything about his voice. Then, the poem just kind of happened, and... I thought I might as well write it down somewhere._

 

laughter, voice, song

 

your golden laughter's like a trumpet

heralding the dawning day;

so glorious—

so wonderful—

sweet music, which will never fade

 

your laughter rings out in the fields,

greeting the sun with happy sound,

filling the Universe with joy

so great, no equal can be found

 

your silver voice is smooth as water

flowing down the rolling hills;

so effortless—

so elegant—

it keeps the whole world silent-still

 

your voice is silken when you speak,

spun out until it’s fair and fine,

and I could never cease to love

hearing your words, time after time

 

your diamond song is clear as crystal,

pure and simple, soft and light;

so beautiful—

so powerful—

it could turn daytime into night

 

your song takes root within my mind,

it touches both my heart and soul,

and when I listen to you sing

I feel content, and safe, and whole


	5. Entry 4

**June 2nd, 2019**

Eliot was improving at an amazing rate this week.

After he got his voice back, everything else seemed to follow: he was able to stay awake for longer, he started to move around more... he even started walking on his own yesterday, _weeks_  ahead of schedule.

In short, his progress was remarkable. It was  _so_ remarkable, in fact, that Margo and I got a confused and accusatory call from the Brakebills doctors. We had to swear to them that the reports we sent were true. Apparently, it's unheard of for someone in Eliot's position—that is, someone possessed for such a long amount of time, and by a creature as powerful as the Monster—to start recovering so quickly. They warned us that, most likely, Eliot was not as recovered as he seemed; that, soon enough, he'd start to decline again.

We've all been told from the start that Eliot's recovery will be both extremely unpredictable and full of a lot of back-and-forth: good days, followed by okay days, followed by great days, followed by awful ones. It's common in cases of possession, apparently—the seesaw between getting better and getting worse. Apparently, you bounce back and forth until you finally finish somewhere in the middle. At the end, you're no longer suffering, but you're also far from the person you started out as, before the possession occurred.

But when Margo and I looked at Eliot, who was wandering around just last night, we couldn't see how he could start backtracking. We couldn't imagine that anything would get worse.

And then, today happened.

Eliot was up and walking around this morning. Soon after he got up, however, he stumbled, and Margo and I had to catch him before he fell face-first into the floor. He brushed off the whole incident like it was nothing, but we kept hovering—and it's a good thing we did. Not five minutes later, his legs gave out completely from underneath him, and we had to drag him over to a chair. 

Throughout the day, all of the progress he's made has been disappearing.

He can still talk, but it's more difficult for him; he can still move in place, but it takes more of his energy; and even though he was walking only hours ago, I don't think he could even stand up right now. 

I'm writing this at the kitchen table, with Eliot seated across from me. I'm here to keep an eye on him, and to make sure he eats the food Margo made. He's claimed to be 'not hungry' too many times, and for too many days, for Margo and I not to be worried. We haven't put this in our medical reports, but... we both agreed that we should stay with him for meals—just to be on the safe side.

Fortunately, it seems like he ate everything on his plate. That may be the only good thing that's come out of today.

I often steal glances at Eliot when he's looking away or lost in thought (as he often is these days). With each glance, I'm trying to see past the surface and get a glimpse into how he feels—into the stress, and anger, and pain, and frustration he must be holding inside.

Eliot, being the infuriating person he is, will always pretend that everything's fine whenever Margo and I ask how he is. When I asked him just a few minutes ago if he was doing alright, he smiled at me and said "Sure, Q. Why wouldn't I be?" 

Why wouldn't he be? _He's just lost all the progress he's made!_  His doctors told us that his recovery would be like taking three steps forward and two steps back; so yes, of course, we all expected this to some extent. But I refuse to believe he's not affected by this. I refuse to believe he's truly not daunted at all.

Because I'm _terrified_  after watching him decline so quickly.

And, judging from the expression she wore when we both stopped Eliot's falls this morning, I think Margo's a little scared as well.

Eliot, though... he's recently put on this impenetrable, perfect mask. No matter how hard I try to look behind it, he finds a way to block me out. He finds a lie to hide the truth about what he's thinking, about how he's feeling. Even though we're his two best friends, and he usually trusts us with almost anything, he's never let his guard down _once_ while we've been here.

That worries me. That worries me a _lot_.

He's looking out the window, now, and I snuck in a glance while I could; I saw the mask of calm, of ease, of normalcy... and that was it.

That's all I ever see, these days.

I hope that, soon, he'll take off this mask for good; but for now, all I can do is wait.


	6. Entry 5

**June 10th, 2019**

I was going to update this journal last night, but my evening ended up being taken over by a musical theater event.

I knew that Eliot was partial to musicals, and that he'd been in shows as a kid... but to say that he merely  _likes_  musicals is an understatement.

As I learned last night, it would be more accurate to say that he  ** _loves_**  them.

Yesterday, at 7:55pm, everything was as it should be. Margo and I had just finished writing our latest Eliot recovery report, which said something along the lines of "no major changes have occurred, but slow and steady progress is evident." Eliot can kind of walk now, but he needs a cane to support himself, and the effort of walking tires him out quickly. Still, he's dedicated to working on getting better, and his determination is definitely paying off. I'm pretty sure that, unlike last time, the progress he's making now won't slip away. 

I'd assumed Eliot had fallen asleep already (he's been sleeping a lot, while recovering). Margo went off to get something from her room, and I picked up this journal, ready to write the week's entry. 

Then, without warning, Eliot's door slammed open. The expression on his face was one I hadn't seen in a while, and it took me a minute to figure out what it was.

It was excitement—pure, simple, genuine _excitement_. 

"Q! Turn on the TV. And Bambi, get in here right now!"

Eliot took his seat in the middle of the couch while Margo and I did as we were told; after Margo was seated on Eliot's right, and I on his left, he took the remote from me and started flipping furiously through the channels. 

"We only have a few minutes before it starts," Eliot said, mostly to himself. When he finally got to the channel he wanted, he let out a sigh of relief, sinking back into the couch cushions and letting the remote fall onto his lap. "Looks like we're good. We won't miss anything." 

Since the channel was on an ad break, I had no idea what he was talking about.

"We only have a few minutes before _what_ starts?" I asked. 

Eliot looked a bit wounded that I had to pose such a question. When he saw that Margo was also confused, he gasped in mock-offense.

"I'd expect _him_ not to know, but Bambi, you're better than that! I know we've had a lot going on lately, but this is an important event! One of the most important of the year, if I do say so myself." 

Understanding suddenly dawned on Margo's face. Now she, too, was clearly excited. 

"I totally forgot about it!" 

I leaned forward and stared at both of them pointedly, still waiting for an explanation.

"Quentin," Eliot said, looking at me and placing his hand on my shoulder. "Quentin, my dear. Tonight, you will be introduced to the most glorious annual television event that has ever existed. Tonight, you will see..." 

As if on cue, a fanfare started. I turned my head to read the event's title screen.

**73rd Annual Tony Awards**

Since I'd never watched the Tony Awards before, it took me a while to understand just what was going on. Eliot and Margo, however, were more than happy to offer explanations during ad breaks. As it turns out, the Tony Awards is the award show for Broadway musicals. It has performances, trophies, celebrity appearances—everything you'd expect at such an event.

While I hadn't heard of any of the people or shows mentioned (except for _Oklahoma!_ , because who hasn't heard of that?), it was fun to watch Eliot and Margo watch the ceremony. They cheered for their favorites, grumbled when they thought the judges had chosen wrong, and absolutely adored every performance that was given.

I haven't seen them as _happy_ as they were last night for forever. And I haven't felt that carefree since... well, since a long time ago.

The journey we've had together hasn't been easy. And the journey we're on right now will be difficult as well.

But sometimes, it's nice to let the little joys in life distract you, for a bit. 


	7. Entry 6

**June 17th, 2019**

Things are finally starting to feel more normal around here.

While Eliot is far from being fully recovered, he's gained back most of his energy. He's also back to his usual banter, which is a relief for both Margo and me. Him being quiet for so many days was starting to become disconcerting.

Hearing Eliot's voice more consistently, and being able to have whole conversations with him, has definitely strengthened my hope for his recovery.

And yet, I still have concerns... 

While the Monster was in charge of Eliot's body, he just ate whatever he felt like eating; now, Eliot has to face the consequences of that. After months of having nothing but sugar and carbs, he has to re-train his body to eat all other types of foods. It's proving to be quite difficult, and it's the only issue he's not consistently making progress with.

I'm filled with anger whenever I think about everything the Monster did to him. Eliot, however, seems to be taking it all in stride. He does all his exercises, and tries to eat whatever we give him, without one complaint or foul remark. 

And _that_ brings me to my other worry. 

I was hoping that, by this point, Eliot would have dropped his "everything's fine, nothing's wrong" act. I was hoping, since almost a month has passed, that he'd finally be ready to start talking to us—that he'd finally reveal how he really feels. But he's _still_ pretending that he's okay... and I have no idea when he'll stop this charade.

I know he must be hurting. But if he'd just _talk_ to me, maybe I could help! 

If only he'd let me in, like he used to do...

The friendship I've developed with both Eliot and Margo is one of the strongest I've ever had. I trust both of them completely, and I can't imagine living my life without them. Those weeks when Eliot was in the Monster's grasp were, without a doubt, the worst of my life. Whenever Margo and I would look at each other back then, I'd see my own fears reflected in her eyes. All I could think about, day in and day out, was getting Eliot back, and getting him back _alive_. 

We managed to do that—we brought Eliot home.

But now, the question remains... did we bring him back _whole_? 

All of the medical information I've received says that victims of possession usually undergo a change; they can become 99% the person they used to be, but there will always be 1% that's just a bit _different_  from what it was.

I want Eliot back 100%. I want to believe we rescued all of him.

But what if we lost that 1%? What if he's not who he was?

I can't tell how he's changed— _if_ he's changed—until the day he decides to be honest with us again.

And that day will be very important to me, because of what I want to say.

There are _things_ I need to discuss with Eliot—things I promised myself I'd bring up, after we got him back and he'd started to heal. There's these thoughts, and feelings, and wishes I have that I think are worth mentioning again.

Because, the thing is...

I'm still in love with him.

And I think that his feelings on the matter might have changed, given what he said on that day he broke free.

_Peaches and plums, motherfucker._

I _need_ to know what he meant by that. I can't rest until I do.

But I won't reveal my own feelings to him until he starts being honest with us. 

If he wants my thoughts, he'll have to earn them; that's something I'm willing to wait for.


	8. Playlist 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First playlist for the journal; each song has a Spotify link included! (If anyone would prefer YouTube links, just let me know and I'd be happy to add those as well!)

**June 24th, 2019**

It's been raining for three days straight, now, and I'm starting to get a bit of cabin fever.

Apparently I didn't hide my boredom well this morning, because Eliot laughed at me for 'moping around.' He took pity on me, though, when he suggested that I do what _he_ does when he's bored.

I thought there was going to be some sexual joke after that, but no; apparently, when Eliot's bored, he makes playlists!

He showed me the playlists he's been creating during his recovery. He's got all these detailed notes on them, and different colored highlights, and... well. It's clear he puts a lot of effort into these things. I also feel, somehow, that he doesn't make a habit of sharing this hobby with just anyone—that it's something special, some piece of him that you have to earn the right to see.

I'm honored to have earned that right. And now, inspired by him, I've made a playlist of my own!

I've never really made a playlist before, but I've had all day to figure it out. Eliot said that playlists usually have a theme, and that's what I got stuck on, for a while; I was initially just going to throw my favorite songs together and call it a day, but choosing a theme requires _effort_. As such, making the playlist definitely stopped me from being bored.

The first song references Orpheus, and the last song is from _Hadestown_ , which I heard mentioned a lot during the Tonys. So I've decided that's the connection: Orpheus links the beginning and the end. Beyond that, every song on the playlist is pretty laid-back, but still has this kind of earnest undertone. And somehow, all of the songs remind me of summer. (I'm sure that's not as eloquent as Eliot's summaries, but it  _is_ my first go at this.)

Maybe I'll make a playlist for Eliot, someday. I think he might like that.

And I think I might enjoy making it for him.

 

* * *

 

 Orpheus Playlist

 

[Orpheus](https://open.spotify.com/track/1GUpz8hSy5hhqA2AHwF0xD?si=CucYxWIbSQu31YU0WCHStA) — Sara Bareilles

[From Eden](https://open.spotify.com/track/5aRZk9oWIYUB5alrTs8TTV?si=KeRS7QvnR-mBoL-EVVJ5-Q) — Hozier

[Passenger Seat](https://open.spotify.com/track/42raDMAj1FDvMtNxcrExux?si=do3JG67NQZeR8UOM6K1Yiw) — Death Cab For Cutie

[Blowin' In The Wind](https://open.spotify.com/track/0XIe81wYNtdvIttRAUEau4?si=hzR6rmNWSUKdQY9KF9-GCw) — Peter, Paul and Mary

[Here There Delilah](https://open.spotify.com/track/3DWOTqMQGp5q75fnVsWwaN?si=GhOdV5dBQFahlA6c3zIiNw) — Plain White T's

[My Father's Gun](https://open.spotify.com/track/2INRJBJrKyOgyg4rNvPP8A?si=amho2vNESviyUeYsF-J24w) — Elton John

[Casimir Pulaski Day](https://open.spotify.com/track/1u1YU1LE0FWHFOHpR2iXua?si=pme6vWqFRWiEIsjvRuD7lA) — Sufjan Stevens

[Northern Downpour](https://open.spotify.com/track/49SL9f1Kz73p0bzsNPTY4l?si=t2xCgzOIS--_VqPJ5NoAnA) — Panic! At The Disco

[Sun and Moon](https://open.spotify.com/track/1tBOmqQIzV4wye0CkJCH3Z?si=4Kl4SjB7QPuw90FoKuLVTw) — Jon Walker

[I Raise My Cup To Him](https://open.spotify.com/track/0jO6x6avQrmfFuKwLnGE3S?si=gY6vpyvISdezXf2bkTXQaw) — Anaïs Michell, Ani DiFranco 


End file.
